A Smile
by Acey Dearest
Summary: On a sleepless night, Kuririn thinks about Juuhachigou and how much she means to him. One-shot. Complete.


"Smile" by Acey  
  
Disclaimer: Look, I'm tired. I don't feel like writing one, but, *yawns,* here goes. I don't own DBZ, no matter how often I wish to own DBZ. That particular dream of mine has always failed to come true.  
  
Kuririn watched as his wife slept, barely drawing her shallow breaths, in and out, in and out. Hers was a deep, seldom disturbed, seemingly dreamless sleep, the kind that Kuririn had never had, and understandably so, considering all that had happened to the former monk. His insomnia had let up over the past few years, though, just enough to notice. Whether it was due to marriage or due to the happy influence of his child, he didn't know, but was glad of the slight relief.  
It was the middle of summer. The days were getting as long as they were going to get, the sun was killingly relentless on his back when he went out, and Marron's first request when asked what she wanted for breakfast had switched from muffins to ice cream. He compensate with a popsicle, along with half a piece of toast and an egg with her milk. Juuhachigou'd half-smiled when she saw the effect of the partially gratified demand, the sight of her daughter, face covered in melted popsicle, licking what little remained on the wooden stick. It had been a good day.   
It wasn't often that he'd seen Juuhachigou smile, really smile. Not the arrogant, self-centered smirk that Juunanagou would display for the world when he felt like it, or the mildly derisive, mocking one Juuhachi had last worn a few years back, the genuine type that made everything all right in his eyes, that made him feel fortunate, very fortunate, to know that he, Kuririn, had somehow caught her beautiful cerulean eyes, caught them when no one else had, when even he thought that he was doomed to the mediocrity of the confirmed and unhappy bachelor. To see that smile flash on her lovely face was enough for him.   
He knew most husbands would want more, would expect more, and he also knew that they were inclined to get less for the wanting. Kuririn was satisfied beyond belief with what was his. He had it all with Juuhachigou, more than he thought he deserved, even now. It was hard to believe. With all the other, better-looking men out there that she could have gotten so easily, so effortlessly, she had thrown it away and sought out him. When at long last he had proposed he remembered glancing up into her face, expecting acute disappointment. But she had only nodded and asked him when he wanted the wedding.  
He looked at her now, in the dark, the shadows playing across her pale face, tiny diamond in the engagement ring above the wedding one reflecting a minuscule amount of light. To a coroner she would be considered dead, probably. To the other fighters she was just a comment, a "Kuririn's wife-- who'd've thought?" type of deal, but to him, Kuririn, Juuhachigou was an angel who had miraculously graced him with her presence. To Kuririn she would always be ethereal, amazing.  
He wished he could see her like she was now more often. She looked serene, at peace with whatever internal conflict she had. In the morning she would not be like that.   
No, in the morning she would be back to being the quiet stoic, the good mother, the loyal wife, but along with that was tinged an inpenetrable bitterness, caustic, a slight cynical outlook that was not directed toward him or Marron or really anyone still alive but affected him nonetheless. There was a dutifulness to her actions, and surely there was love there somewhere too, but the sense of obligation seemed to override it to a high degree. And yet, he knew there was more there. There had to be. Juuhachigou did not take marriage lightly; she would not have chosen him to break his heart. He knew that-- he hoped that-- for sure.  
He did not understand how Juuhachigou could be like she was, seeming so alone, aloof, even though the fact stood that her family was with her all the time. Standing apart through the best and the worst, standing out in the crowd still, despite that she wasn't causing harm to anyone anymore, hadn't, really, in ten years. You could pick her out in all the pictures, and people had, during and after the last Budokai she'd entered, and those that had not drooled like idiots had thought that there was something unnatural there. Kuririn had heard them, and he suspected Juuhachi had, too, but then there was so much excitement afterwards that he had not thought about it in a long time. At any rate, Juuhachigou had never mentioned it, and probably never would. He figured she'd taken care of the jerks herself with a practiced, careful hit, no more. How dare they have said those things about her? They didn't even know her. They didn't realize what she could do, or how far she'd come from what she once was. They didn't get it, they did not get it at all.  
It was one ante meridian. In another six or seven hours, Juuhachigou would wake up, say good morning, face the dawn like she had every other day and would every other day for an eternity, with the calmness and cool poise that was hers, and hers alone. It would be just a little while, just a little while, Kuririn thought as he silently applauded his love that would never know how deep his love for her went, before he sighed and finally fell asleep as well, smiling a smile for Juuhachigou.  
  
finis  
  
Author's Note: I decided to lay off on my Juunanagou angst (there's only so much you can do of that before you become miserable, too), and (my apologies-- I just need to back off on that one for a little bit) "Letters," and try to bring Kuririn to justice instead. I hope I did a good job. 


End file.
